


By Cruel Design

by TeacupNiffler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Author Day, Evil Author Day 2021, F/M, I probably won't, Ill stop killing people after the first few chapters, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeacupNiffler/pseuds/TeacupNiffler
Summary: The hunt for the Horcruxes drags on, years hiding have left the Order weak and when the worse happens Hermione is left at the mercy of her worst enemy.Assimilate or die, Hermione faces the worst of Voldemort's loyal followers and must choose whether to run and leave her few remaining friends behind or accept the pack and work from within to bring down Voldemort's reign.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Evil Author Day 😈 
> 
> This is something that I have been playing around with for a while now, it's been sitting in my WIP folder and given the spirit of this very special day, I thought I'd throw the first 2 chapters out here for you to enjoy.  
> This piece is un-beta'd, a WIP and does not currently have an upload schedule so I can't promise when I'll add more. (Probably at some point after I finish my current WIP) 
> 
> This is a little darker than work I've uploaded before so tags will change if/when I add more and tw will be added to relevant chapters. 
> 
> TW: character death, non-consentual kissing

Hermione’s breath came out in small, white clouds as she stood in the forest watching the bleeding colours of the sunset over the tips of the trees. She had walked to the edge of their small camp, trying to get some space from the constant bickering of Order members all stuffed into cramped quarters. They had been camping in this forest for almost three months, Hermione didn’t know the name of it but the trees were tall and close together where she stood at the edge of the wards. The clearing was barely big enough to hold four tents but within their magically enlarged walls was a small community of Order members and war survivors.

A part of Hermione couldn’t believe this was her third Christmas eve on the run. The other part could barely remember what life was like before the war. She had thought, on her first Christmas with Harry at Godric’s Hollow that they would quickly find the Horcruxes and the next year she would be enjoying a warm dinner with her parents. Three years on Hermione didn’t even know if her parents where alive and her warm dinner would be shared with the other survivors and made of meagre rations. The war was harsh, and the Order was barely clinging on. Hermione, Ron and Harry had continued on with their Horcrux hunt as long as they could but eventually, they had been forced to return to the Order. As Voldemort’s control on Britain grew stronger and the Order’s resistance faltered, their progress had ground to a halt. Most of the Order had been forced to go into hiding and separation from their friends became pointless.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to the opening of the tent to where the Weasley’s and a few of their surviving friends laughed and teased one another. Christmas Eve had raised their usually dower moods somewhat. They had all been kicked out the tent by Mrs Weasley for making too much noise as she cooked. George and Fred amused the others with their newest invention: charmed mistletoe, one that physically trapped its victims until they snogged, while Ginny squeaked when Harry held it above her head. Hermione watched Ginny attempt to escape their invisible bubble, hands pressed against the impenetrable air while Harry pouted at her, before throwing herself onto her boyfriend and kissing him passionately. The rest of the group laughed and cheered as the Mistletoe dislodged from the air and tumbled harmlessly to the ground.

They had already spent the last hour giving the small clearing an almost heinous amount of Christmas cheer. There was tinsel looped over the tents and connecting the openings of each with shiny green and red garlands twinkling in the remaining rays of sunlight. Each of the small shrubs and bushes hung low, weighed down by an assortment of old partially broken ornaments. There was a muggle Santa figurine standing guard at the entrances of a tent, charmed up to sing obnoxious Christmas carols at any who dared pass by it. Even with all the wards around their camp the glaring attractions made Hermione anxious. They should be lying low, planning on moving somewhere unknown not decorating every low-lying branch or tree they could get their hands on.

Hermione had slunk away from the commotion. She had little Christmas spirit left in her nowadays and did not want to end up trapped under the cursed mistletoe with Ronald. Their fleeting relationship had fizzled out and left a stale taste in her mouth years ago. Their friendship had suffered but they put on a polite façade around the others. When most of the people you knew where dead it seemed pointless to avoid anyone and became hard to hold onto petty grudges.

The sun was a deep red as it lowered past the treetops and Hermione mourned it’s passing silently. She was tired of the fighting, the running and the hiding. They had found reasonable safety in the forest, but Hermione was on edge. They had been here too long, there was nowhere safe for them now in Britain. Death Eater’s lurked around every corner and Hermione trusted no one with the safety of their location.

It was with this cynical apprehension that Hermione scanned the darkening forest beyond their campsite. She had already spent much of her day checking their wards and patrolling the perimeter.

Hermione’s eyes peered into the distance, the trees obscured most lines of sight, but she swore she saw something glimmer in the distance.

Hermione pulled out her wand clutched it tightly in her hand. Something bounded past a tree in the distance, it was barely formed and gave off a dull light.

Hermione dared not take another step forward, knowing exactly where the wards began. Another flash between the trees and Hermione inhaled sharply.

A Patronus. It fled through the trees towards her. Its wisps of pale light were weak but still there.

Hermione dared not take her eyes off it, but she raised her voice, hoping that her friends would hear her.

“Get Harry inside!”

She heard a commotion as a chair fell and multiple people moving at once.

The Patronus was nearly on their camp and Hermione still couldn’t make out its form. The edges were too blurred, the light of the Patronus bleeding out into the open air as it moved towards her.

Finally, it burst past the wards and, coming into contact with Hermione first, it stopped. It was barely more than a fading ball of light, but she still heard the frantic voice that escaped it.

“They know. They are coming. Run.”

Hermione recognised the voice. It was Katie Bell’s but faded with the distinct note of extreme pain that Hermione had grown used to over recent years. Katie and two other Order members had gone out to scavenge food the day earlier and had not yet returned. It appeared they may never.

Hermione couldn’t waste time, she didn’t know when Katie had sent the Patronus or how much of a head start the Death Eater’s had. They needed to get out. They had been here too long, she had known it.

Hermione turned and sprinted towards the tents.

“They’re coming.” She screamed at Ron and Fred who were standing at the tent entrance with their wands drawn.

Ron disappeared into the tent, already bellowing orders to the others.

Hermione sprinted, they had to move fast. She didn’t know how long they had until-

Hermione was suddenly knocked off her feet by a blast.

Thrown forwards, she hit her side against a tree and her vision went blurry as she tried to stand too quickly. She coughed and staggered, trying to comprehend.

There was smoke in the air as she looked back and instantly, she knew that the burning rubble she looked at the was remains of one of the tents. Explosive spells and undetectable extension charms did not mix well together. Once the magic that contained the contents of an extension charm was broken it reacted violently, the contents rapidly trying to expand back into minuscule space it had recently occupied.

Hermione felt the blanket of warding magic around her fall and she gasped as the area was instantly filled with the black robes of Death Eaters.

Hermione ran.

She had to get to the remaining tents, she needed to get Harry out of here.

The flash of a hex nearly hit her as she threw herself to the left, out of its path. Hermione cast a slashing hex over her shoulder, she had no time for delicate spells. From the few moments she had had to look around she knew they were outnumbered. Hermione didn’t realise how many Death Eater’s Voldemort had recruited. As she sprinted, she saw a few that she recognised.

The Order member’s still capable of fighting were now emerging from the two remaining tents and Hermione saw a flash of pale blonde hair as a hex from George’s wand hit a Death Eater. The Death Eater still stood, his long blonde hair shining in the coming darkness. Lucius Malfoy ripped his twisted mask off his face and sent a curse back towards the Weasley twin.

Hermione didn’t have time to call out at the green light of an Avada moved through the air towards George. She could only gasp as George was pushed out of the line of the curse and his twin, Fred, felt to the ground. His eyes still wide, wand clutched in his hand as life slipped from him.

Hermione didn’t have time to process the loss and something hit her from the side, a hulking mass sent her skittering across the ground and there was a foul stench of warm breath pressing against her neck.

Deep claws ripped into her shoulder as Hermione tried to wriggle free of the muscle pinning her down. Cold saliva dripped onto her face as Hermione looked into the animalistic yellow eyes of Fenrir Greyback. He had her pinned against the ground, faces only inches from her own and her wand hand trapped to her side by his thick leg. His breath came in heavy pants as she struggled to lift her wand hand.

If she could manoeuvre it only a little to the left, she could blast him off her. His hands began to roam as his legs pinned her and he grinned wickedly, all teeth on display as he whispered,

“So, you’re the little Mudblood they’ve been talking about.” He leant forward and his moist, warm tongue lapped across her cheek. “Mmm, you’ll make a fine prize for-”

Hermione didn’t give him a chance to elaborate. Her wrist escaped from the crushing weight of his knee and she pointed her wand at him.

“ _Bombarda,_ ” she snarled, allowing her disgust and hatred to fuel her magic.

The charm was strong, but it only threw Greyback a metre away from her. Hermione took her chance and rolled away before using a tree to regain her footing. She saw Ron, having dropped the masked Death Eater he was fighting, move towards her.

“Hermione!” He yelled, running towards her.

Greyback was stirring on the ground. His lycanthropy ensuring he survived Hermione’s spell. His hair was matted with blood, the flesh of his arm and cheek now exposed as he sat up. Hermione saw his eyes and a shiver went up her back.

“Ron!” She screamed, still clinging to the tree that supported her. “Watch out!”

Ron wasn’t quick enough, as he ran towards her Greyback’s bloodied hand reached out and snatched his ankle. Ron’s red hair hit the dirt and Greyback was on top of his in an instant. Hermione wanted to scream as she saw Greyback bite down and blood gushed out of her once-lover.

Hermione gripped her wand tighter in her hand and pushed away from the tree. She was only a few metres from Ron, if she got close enough, she would have a clear aim. She would Avada the beast. She knew she had enough hatred in her heart in that moment, watching Ron scream and writhe in pain as Greyback ripped into his skin with his teeth.

Hermione raised her wand but was pushed back as slashing hex cut across her. She felt the biting sting whip across her arm. Her jumper’s knitted fibres sliced away and unravelled into the pooling blood on her arm. Hermione’s shield charm came up just in time as she was hit with another. She stumbled back as a masked Death Eater cast rapid-fire hexes at her.

She was being forced away from Ron and Greyback. Ron screamed into the wet dirt. His own blood filthy as it smeared across his chest and darkened his already red hair.

Hermione tried to move towards him but found herself trapped by her own opponent. She forced herself to look away from her friend and take in the presence that pushed her back. The Death Eater was tall and broad, cloaked in black robes with a silver mask still fixed across his face. He raised his arm and Hermione was forced to duck as another wordlessly cast hex hurtled towards her.

She couldn’t tell who it was, but they were good. Terrifyingly good.

Hermione threw a loud verbal curse at him and she watched his lips twist with amused ease as he blocked the spell. He didn’t catch the second curse, which she cast silently as soon as his shield went down.

The Death Eater was knocked back but recovered quickly. Hermione could see where her curse had clipped his mask, the thick metal was gashed on the left side and blood dripped slowly from the opening.

Hexes and curses began flying with a renewed pace, Hermione barely had time to catch one before another was coming at her. She ducked and shielded, trying to send just as many in return. Their duel pushed her back further, away from Ron and around the edge of their camp. Hermione could see other Order members fall as she fought but she had no time to ascertain their condition. She knew one slip up could be her head.

Flames from the exploded tent where spreading, engulfing their miniaturised battlefield. Hermione’s mind raced as she fended off more and more spells. She needed to get to Ron to save him from Greyback. She needed to get to the others to help them fend off the Death Eaters. She needed to get to the tents to help others escape.

Hermione ducked as the Death Eater she fought threw a curse towards her and ducked one she had sent to him.

She felt splinters pierce her back as a tree exploded with flames behind her and she thought she recognised the cold voice that hissed

“ _Expelliamus_.”

Distracted by the flames Hermione was unable to stop her wand as it flew out of her hand and was caught by the Death Eater. Hermione tried to scramble after it but stopped short as she saw the robes of the Death Eater she was fighting had been pushed back from his head.

Pale blonde hair and a twisted sneer greeted her as she looked up.

Draco Malfoy.

She had been duelling Draco Malfoy.

The idea seemed to drag her heart into the depth of her stomach. Hermione had grown accustomed to fighting Voldemort’s followers. The older, twisted Pureblood men and even the few women that joined their ranks. Nott, the Carrows, even Greyback no longer phased her, but seeing Draco Malfoy standing before her made her want to scream.

He was the same age as her. They had gone to school together for years. How do you go from schoolyard taunting to trying to kill each other in a burning forest?

Hatred bubbled in Hermione’s stomach. She watched the triumphant sneer on Malfoy’s face as he gripped her own wand, the wand she had gotten when she was a small girl. She treasured nothing more than that wand, the small object that had granted her entrance into the wizarding world. Now it was in the hand of a Death Eater who believed her magic stolen and her life worthless.

Draco sneered at her, lifting his own wand. She knew she couldn’t defeat him with her limited wandless magic, but she still had all her muggle abilities. Abilities Malfoy probably thought beneath him.

Hermione leapt to the left, rolling as the spark of violet impacted with the ground when she had been just standing, she didn’t wait for Malfoy to strike again. She hurled herself forward, aiming directly for Malfoy’s midsection.

She put every piece of rage and grief welling in her and collided with Malfoy. Her shoulder hit his stomach, and they went tumbling backwards. Malfoy let out a distinct grunt of surprise as they sprawled on the ground. Rocks cut into Hermione’s hand as she scrabbled to regain the upper hand before Malfoy’s senses could come back to him. She looked around the filthy clearing, trying to see where their wands had landed.

There, her mind scream, in the dirt. Almost two metres away stuck between a piece of bombarded table and a puddle of something wet, Hermione didn’t want to know exactly what, was Malfoy’s wand. She launched herself towards it, she couldn’t see her own wand but his would do. Perhaps killing Malfoy with his own wand would be retribution in of itself. A pathetic end to a pathetic wizard.

Hermione stumbled, her foot caught on some debris and her knee cutting into a rusty nail. She bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the cry that wanted to burst out of her. Blood welled where she had bitten, she spat it onto the ground as she tried to reach that last few centimetres to the wand.

If she could just get to it before-

Something clamped around her ankle, yanking hard.

“You fucking bitch.” She heard Malfoy spit behind her, his hand digging into her ankle as he dragged her back along the ground to him.

Hermione screamed as she lost the distance to the wand, digging her fingers into the dirt as they scrapped along, trying to find a purchase to hold onto. He was too strong she realised. She bent her loose leg, trying to roll herself onto her back to get a better aim.

It appeared Malfoy, despite his strength, had not been expecting her to fight in the muggle style. Hermione didn’t give a shit about duelling tactics now, she waited until he had dragged her close enough, not paying attention to what she was doing. She kicked at him, her boot glancing of his ribs as he dropped her other leg. Hermione pulled back and kicked again, this time narrowly missing his head. He had to swerve to avoid her as she screamed at him in frustration.

Hermione knew what she must look like to Malfoy. Filthy, wild-haired, covered in mud and blood. Clawing wildly as she curses and spat. Feral and wandless- the epitome of what they believe Mudblood's to be. Let him think she was a wild animal; she didn’t give a shit. She would rip his pathetic face off if she got the chance.

Hermione shoved herself backwards, but Malfoy had recovered from the initial blow and threw himself at her. He’d apparently forsaken his superior wizarding ways and was prepared to roll around in the dirt with her now.

Hermione tried to kick at him again, but he was too close and his hands managed to wrap around both her calves stilling her thrashing limbs and heaving her towards him.

Hermione grabbed at the ground coming up with handfuls of dirt as Malfoy clambered onto her, pinning her waist down with his weight. As he went for her arms, she threw her hands at him, aiming for his eyes.

A cloud of brown dust fell across Malfoy’s face and she watched in satisfaction as he reared back clenching his eyelids closed in pain. She tried to pull herself out from under him but he was too heavy.

Hermione scrambled, trying to reach the wand that still lay out of reach. She twisted herself, grabbing more dirt in her hands in case. She was so close, the wand was only a few more feet, she didn’t think Malfoy had seen it yet.

Suddenly strong hands clasped over her wrists and Malfoy shook the dirt loose from her hands.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” She growled, trying to thrash away from his grip.

“Shut up, Mudblood,” Draco growled, trying to contain her as she bucked and thrashed underneath him. He was incredibly strong but the yowling hell cat clawing and scratching for her freedom seemed to have thrown him off his game. Hermione knew he knew how to bind and contain with a wand but this was different, she thrashed every part of her body that was free of his grip. She screamed at him all the while, blood trickling into her open mouth from the scratches she’d sustained.

Hermione's foot found something hard to kick off from and she managed to get her knee aimed in just the right spot. She thrust hard and was met with a satisfying crunch followed by an agonised groan. She connected with the wizard’s precious jewels. Malfoy’s face above her twisted into a fierce hatred but the grip on her hands loosened from his pain.

Hermione took the distraction and pushed up, just enough that she could flip Malfoy and then she scrambled, pinning his legs with her own. She didn’t hesitate, she pulled back and punched Draco squarely in the face.

Hermione had always had a nasty right hook, though from the look of it she’d barely done any damage to the pristine face. She spat at him and yelled as she lifted her fist and connected with his face again and again.

“You’re a pathetic, vile little-”

Hermione hit him, aiming for his eyes and his nose. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted him filthy and bleeding like herself. She wanted to show him he was no better than her, rolling in the dirt. Hermione landed another blow, glancing off Malfoys arm and clipping him on the ear. She threw everything behind her punches, pouring her rage into the movements while the world burned around them.

Suddenly a deep rumbling laugh came from behind them, an amused voice followed.

“Looks like Malfoy got a wild one,” it whooped.

Hermione tried to ignore it; she was busy trying to make Malfoy’s face as filthy as he believed her blood. Her fists were small but she was sure with enough blows it would be effective. She stopped however when she heard another weak voice behind her.

“’Mione.” It whispered.

Hermione spun, still atop Malfoy.

Ron. Ron was dangling limply in Fenrir Greybacks grip, his leg mangled into an impossible angle and pooling blood beneath him. His eyes fluttered, conscious slipping away as Hermione let out a rattling breathe.

“Enough.” Draco grabbed her wrists, taking advantage of her distraction. Without her trying inefficiently to pummel his face into the ground he easily was able to lift her small body with a push of his hips and then they were tumbling.

Tumbling far further than she thought was possible.

They rolled downwards, a crater in the clearing that had appeared during the fighting. Someone had blown up the second tent, the magic reacting so violently to pitch the earth inwards. Hermione and Draco rolled down the slanted dirt, their fighting for dominance forcing them further as they clipped dirt, rocks and broken furniture.

Suddenly their decent came to a stop. Their bodies collided with an unseen barrier with enough force to send the air sputtering out of both their lungs. Malfoy’s head collided hard with her knee as she landed atop his chest, his eyelids dropping and grip on her slack at the rough impact.

Hermione gasped in ragged breathes, trying to see what had stopped them. They were at the bottom of the wide, shallow crater but nothing near them was large enough to bring their rolling to such a sudden end.

Despite the mystery, Hermione knew she couldn’t stay to investigate. She couldn’t even stay to continue punching Malfoy. She needed to get to the top, to get back to where Greyback had been dragging Ron. She could still save him if she could get back to the wand and apparate them out.

Hermione scrambled through the damp mud, trying to heave herself away from Malfoy before he could breathe again and pin her. She tried to scramble off his body, not caring if she kicked him but she didn’t even make it that far.

Hermione collided face first with an unseen force. Her nose crunched painfully and she staggered back on her knees above Malfoy. She stretched out a hand and felt a heavy wall of magic stopping her.

“No, no, no, no.” She hissed, pulled her hand away and reaching to the other side of her. Barely an arms width on the other side she felt a similar force.

As she leant forward searching the air with her hands Malfoy regained his senses. His arms shot up and grabbed Hermione’s no doubt thinking she was going to start punching him again. He bucked her, this time easily flipping her and straddling her as he growled,

“What do you think you’re playing at?”

Hermione wasn’t listening to him. She yanked her arms away and felt the arm on either side of her. She found hard magic containing her on every side.

“No.” She moaned as Malfoy stared down at her bizarre pantomime.

Slowly, realising she was far more concerned by the air than the Death Eater atop of her Malfoy reached out, his fingers colliding sharply with the unseen barrier. He pulled back then reached in the other direction. Again, he found the magic impenetrable.

Finally, after smashing his fist against the magic in a surprising muggle fashion Draco reached down and grabbed Hermione but the scruff of her shirt.

“What have you done, Granger?” He shook her as he spoke, her head lolling backwards and staring at something in the sky above them.

Tears slipped down her face, streaking the mud with clear lines as she shook her head fiercely.

“No. No, please, no.”

Draco stopped her shaking her and looked up.

Above them, hanging high in the sky where the tent had once sat on the level ground was a small bunch of mistletoe. It was directly above them, locking them in a small area below in the mud.

“Granger,” Draco spat, “What the fuck is that?”

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Something so innocent and ridiculous, something that not long-ago Harry had been hanging above Ginny’s head and giggling about was now trapping Hermione in a magic cage with her worst enemy.

There were only two ways out of the mistletoe Fred and George had created. Either you snogged and it set you free or the twins released you. So far, they had yet to reveal to any of the others what the spell was to be set free. It was one of their most guarded secrets. Hermione had tried to release herself one week earlier when she’d gotten caught with Luna but she’d been unsuccessful.

There were no other ways out. Well, Hermione realised, there was one other. The mistletoe only trapped two people under its branches. Two living people. If one were to die then most likely the other would be released.

Now it was just a question of whether Malfoy had it in him to kill her without the use of a wand. Or if he could get one of his Death Eater pals to do it for him.

Another tear slipped down Hermione’s cheek as she realised this was the end. She had seen so many of her friends die and yet she was still so unprepared for her own demise. She’d truly thought they could make it through this war. She just hoped now that Harry had managed to survive.

A hand clamped around her throat, just enough pressure to make her gasp. Hermione looked up at Malfoy, his eyes glaring down at her as he pressed on her throat again.

“What the fuck is that, Granger?” He growled.

One of Hermione’s hand slid to her throat, scratching at Malfoy’s despite knowing she wasn’t strong enough to pull him off. She’d underestimated him, he’d been a tall scrawny boy in Hogwarts but what the war had stripped from her body his had gained. His body had filled out, wide shoulders and muscled arms despite them being hidden behind his Death Eater robes. Hermione could feel them now as her other arm pulled at his forearm.

“Mistletoe.” She gasped out, as his fingers eased on her throat just enough for her to reply.

Malfoy snarled, his lip curling into a sneer as he leant down closer to her face. His fingers bit into the sides of her throat, and her left hand tried to pry them up and away. She needed air; she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t think him capable; she’d underestimated him again. She wasn’t ready to die. She didn’t think Draco Malfoy, Pureblood prince, had it in him to squeeze the life out of her with his bare hands.

“Get rid of it.” He growled, lip curled and eyes flashing dangerously above her.

Hermione got one hand under his finger, prying them up and gulping in a desperate breath. He’d let her, she knew that. His fingers released partially, still pinning her to the filthy earth but enough that she could breathe.

“Can’t…” She wheezed, “I can’t, it’s charmed. It won’t break until-”

His hand clamped down again seizing her final words and pulling her up by her neck Draco hissed in her face,

“You’re a fucking lying whore.”

Hermione could only shake her head, more tears streaking down her face. She’d die. She’d die now, at the hands of Draco fucking Malfoy. Malfoy seemed to consider her face for a moment, judging her words by the terrified tears that mixed with blood on her cheeks. He let out a frustrated growl and threw her back down into the mud, Hermione’s eyes went wide as the air rushed out of her body from the impact.

Malfoy opened his mouth but they were interrupted by a shout on the top of the crater.

“I knew you’d sunk low, Malfoy, but rolling around in the mud with the Mudblood…”

The rest was cut off by an echoing laugh, then another from the other side. Hermione dared a glance. Death Eaters strolled casually through the burnt clearing, curiously looking down at the pair trapped on the bottom their robes streaked with blood and mud. How fitting, Hermione thought, she would die in the bottom of a muddy ditch. How the Death Eaters would revel in her pathetic downfall. More of them came, at least six hovering at the edge of the broken ground. Most still with their masks intact but a few Hermione recognised. Nott and Goyle snr’s smirked down at them. Two others, including the one who had called attention to their situation and the other with the loud hoarse laugh both, still hid their identities behind twisted silver masks. Greyback, Ron still dangling limply in his grip, watched Malfoy with a firm eye looking more disapproving than Malfoy’s own blood. Lucius Malfoy looked on dispassionately as if his own son was not the one the others barked their amusement at.

Other dark cloaks continued to push through the debris and Hermione let out a choking sob. They weren’t fleeing. They weren’t fighting. They were done, the battle was over and the Death Eaters now stood around their domain without a moment's hesitation or worry for their safety.

Hermione shook her head desperately. No, this couldn’t be happening. Had the rest of the Order escaped? How had this happened? Where was Harry?

He’d made it out, surely, he had made it out. He was their last hope. He had to have made it out.

“Blast that thing out of the fucking sky, Avery.” Malfoy snapped above her.

The masked Death Eater laughed.

“Nah,” he chuckled, “Don’t think I will, Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked like he wanted to throw himself off of Hermione and kill the robed idiot that leered down at them. The Death Eater tapped his short, stubby wand against his leg, clearly enjoying his moment of power over the younger Death Eater.

“He can’t.” Another voice drawled over another round of laughter.

Another Death Eater stepped into the circle. Tall, cocky and without his mask, Blaise Zabini cast a sneer at Avery before nodding to the mistletoe that hung above them.

“It’s one of those Weasley inventions.” Zabini said, “Avery couldn’t get it down even if he wasn’t a bumbled fool with half a wand.”

Avery sneered and muttered something behind his mask. Clearly not amused by the interruption or Zabini’s remarks. The cold black eyes of Zabini scanned over Malfoy and herself, making Hermione shiver. Finally, Zabini’s eyes fixed with Malfoys.

“You either snog the witch,” His voice aloof and unbothered by his proclamation, “Or you kill her.”

A deep rumbling noise came from Malfoy, partially fury and part agony. Hermione was still pinned beneath him, barely able to do more than wiggle under his grasp. Still, she strained, trying to loosen his grip or slip a leg between them. Anything, _anything_ that might protect her from her imminent death. If anything, she would go down fighting. She’d claw his skin and gouge at his eyes if that was all she had. For now, she pulled at his hand, trying to breathe so she wouldn’t pass out before he’d even decided what to do with her.

Blood dripped down Hermione’s face as she shifted her head, trying to get away. She could feel it oozing from her nose and the cut on her forehead. It pooled on her lips, collecting in the corners until she gasped and then it chocked her. The metallic tang reminding her she wasn’t dead yet, she was still fighting.

Despite her scrambling in the mud, Malfoy was paying no attention to her. His grip on her throat to firm and her small body trapped under his legs. She could go nowhere that he didn’t direct now that his grip was sure. Malfoy didn’t even bother looking down at her. Instead, he took in Zabini’s words silently and looked away.

He stared ahead, towards Lucius and Greyback. Waiting, Hermione realised, he was waiting for his directive. He held her still, waiting to be told whether her life was worth keeping or not. Hermione couldn’t see Lucius, but Greyback stared down at them before giving them a nearly unperceivable nod.

Malfoy hesitated above her, still staring at his father or the werewolf, which Hermione couldn’t tell. Lucius turned, forcing his gaze away from the scene and staring off into the distance. Finally, Malfoy moved, his eyes coming back to look at Hermione.

Hermione’s heart raced as hateful grey eyes stared down at her. She sneered, baring her bloody teeth. She scratched at his hand, drawing blood and feeling his skin peel under her nails. Good, she thought, I hope it scars. If he wanted to kill her then he would have to do it with his bare hands and Hermione would fight him tooth and nail the entire way. She refused to look away from his eyes, he’d have to stare into her god damn soul if he wanted to snuff it out.

Hermione grunted and tried to claw at him, but his remaining hand seized her wrist, pushing it down into the mud as she struggled. Hermione may have been weaker and smaller than he was but she wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t done living. She wasn’t done with this world. She’d come back and haunt him as a ghost if she had to. She would dedicate her eternal un-rest to make Draco fucking Malfoy’s life a living hell.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” She bit out; the words gasped on the rest of her air.

He didn’t even seem to be listening. His eyes stopped staring into her as his hand loosened on her neck. His eyes drifted down, staring at her bloodied lips.

“No.” She gasped, realising his intent.

She’d thought the worse that could have happened was her death. She thought for sure he would strangle the life out of her in a muddy ditch, her friend’s bodies scattered around her. She hadn’t even contemplated that he would dare kiss her. That he would follow the directives of the Mistletoe to free them.

“Don’t.” She gasped again but it was too late.

Malfoy, still pinning her arm and neck, bent crushing his lips against her forcefully. Hermione would have screamed if she could have. His lips were hard and warm, painfully pressed against hers as she scratched and clawed at him with the remaining hand and her legs kicked futilely in the dirt.

Malfoy’s hand left her neck, grabbing her clawing hand and forcing it into the dirt with the other. His lips pressed firmer as his tongue darted out, lapping at the seams of her own and collecting her blood. His body shifted, rubbing and pressing down on hers with a groan.

Hermione struggled, horrified as he nipped at her bottom lip making her gasp. Malfoy took advantage of the moment, tongue forcing into her and lips moving against her. Blood, she realised, he was tasting her blood and snogging her harder.

Hermione closed her eyes and tears leaked out even as her own lips moved against his, her attempts at escape thwarted and moulded into painful kisses. Something dropped to the earth beside them with a thump but Malfoy didn’t seem to notice, his tongue had gone back to lapping at the blood on her lips.

Jeers and catcalled came from above as Hermione felt Malfoy move against her, nipping her lip again this time sharp teeth cut through the soft skin pooling more blood for him to taste.

“That’s enough, Pup.” Barked a voice from above, “The Dark Lord await us.”

Malfoy jerked his head back, leaving Hermione’s lips parted and gasping for air. Her chest heaved and she tried not to sob. She looked up at the blond Death Eater and felt her heart drop away. Malfoy’s lips were smeared with her blood, he licked them slowly tasting it again as his eyes shone brightly. Hermione shook upon seeing them. There was no grey left in his iris, only a startling yellow. They were clear and terrifying, eyeing her like she was no more than a rabbit primed for the taking.

“You…” Hermione stuttered, “You’re a…”

Malfoy clamped his hand back down on her throat,

“Werewolf, Granger. The word you’re looking for is werewolf.”

His wolf eyes dulled, the startling yellow ebbing out as the grey crept back and Malfoy took control back from his wolf. He wiped the remaining blood from his lips with his thumb but he didn’t wipe it on his robes like she thought the human side of him might instead his tongue pressed against the pad of his thumb. He licked her blood, causing a slight shiver down his spine all the while staring into her horrified eyes.

Once satisfied with her horror he looked back up. This time she was sure he was looking at Greyback. The older werewolf nodded again, giving his approval while Lucius stood by a look of horror on his usually serene mask.

The jeering from the other side of the pit continued. Avery sneered down at them but from they way be watched them obsessively and shifted himself was anything he was equally aroused and horrified by the pair.

“Here, Malfoy.” He said, kicking a large lump of cloth next to him. “If you’re so enthralled with Potter’s leftovers why don’t you try this one?”

The lump rolled down the slow incline, clipping rocks and disturbing the fabric until Hermione’s opened into a silent scream as she came face to face with the limp corpse of Ginny Weasley.

Cold green eyes stared blankly up at Hermione as Ginny’s body rolled forth, an arm flopping forward and sprawling in the dirt. One finger touching the fallen Mistletoe, lifelessly pale against the green of the leaves. Red hair was matted with darker blood and splayed out over Ginny’s pale, cold skin.

“Oh gods, Ginny.” Hermione couldn’t stop the wail bursting from her lips as she scrabbled in the dirt towards her friend’s bloodied body.

“Pick her up, Pup.” Greyback growled as the other Death Eaters laughed at Hermione, “We’ve got what we came for.”

One arm wrapped around Hermione’s shoulder while the other clasp her waist. Malfoy lifted her up onto her feet as she screamed. Tears blurred Hermione’s vision as she tried to grab at Ginny, she couldn’t just leave her behind.

“Let her go, Granger,” Malfoy whispered in her ear, “She’s dead. Let her go.”

Malfoy pulled Hermione upright, pressing her back against his chest as she wailed. He pushed her forward, half dragging and half carrying her up the muddy bank until they reached the top with an annoyed grunt from Malfoy.

“Here.” Zabini appeared at their elbows, shoving two wands towards Malfoy.

He pocketed Hermione’s wand and gripped his own as the Death Eaters dispersed from their fun. Hermione hung limply from Malfoy’s arms as she stared around the clearing.

The tents where gone, nothing was left but broken furniture and dead bodies. Death Eaters roamed freely, kicking and flipping the bodies they found and examining them. Somewhere picked up and carried away while others were cast aside.

“Thanks,” Malfoy grunted to Zabini and nodded to the scene. “Did we…?”

“Yeah.” Zabini said, “All dead or captured. No one got away.”

Malfoy nodded as Hermione let out another sob in his arms. He pulled her close to his chest again, ignoring the hand that clawed at his arm.

“Potter?” Malfoy asked, and Hermione stilled.

“The Manor.” Zabini said, “Bellatrix took him.”

Hermione let out a sob. Harry wasn’t dead. Harry had been taken by Bellatrix. Harry was being presented to Voldemort as they spoke.

Malfoy only nodded. Zabini said nothing, there was no cheer in their voice nor their demeanour but Hermione still hated them. They fought for this; they had done this. Ginny was dead, Fred was dead, Hermione didn’t know whether Ron was still alive.

“Hey, Malfoy,” a young, waspish voice called, “This’s one of those redheads, should we bring them?”

Malfoy sighed into Hermione’s hair, clearly annoyed. He dragged her with him, turning her away against the side of his body, blocking Hermione’s view, as he looked over the limp body the young Death Eater held up with one hand.

“No,” Draco said, inspecting the red hair and bloodied corpse. “It’s one of the older ones if they’re already dead just leave them.”

Hermione struggled in his arms, trying to twist herself to see. She needed to know, to see with her own eyes. There were so many bodies in the clearing, at least twelve but none close enough for Hermione to identify. All of them could be someone she loved; blonde hair had her mind racing to Luna while red could have been one of the dozen Weasley’s that had been residing in the tents.

Draco gave up trying to hold her back. With a gruff,

“Fine.” He let her swing herself around, still holding her by the waist and Hermione gasped at George came into her vision. His body was sagging limply in the young man’s hands, redhead lolling backwards and empty eyes staring vacantly up at the trees.

Hermione screamed. Not one of fear but of fury. Malfoy huffed irritably as she threw herself forward, trying to break his grip and when that failed, she reached back trying to claw at his hair and face.

“Ah,” He hissed, as she yanked his blonde hair, “Feral little harpy.”

Hermione cursed and spat, wild in every manner. She didn’t care. She ignored the wide-eyed look the wizard before her gave as he dived backwards trying to avoid her kicking legs. She could hear Zabini laughing as she thrashed, determined to strike anything in her range.

“Maybe she needs another snog.” Zabini chuckled at Malfoy.

“Shut it, Blaise.” The wizard grumbled, lifting his wand and pointing it at the witch in his arms. “I can’t wait to dump her in front of the Dark Lord and be done with the fucking bitch.”

Hermione screamed at him, cursing his with every word she knew. She felt the cool prod of a wand against her neck and blackness hit her as Malfoy muttered,

“ _Stupefy_.”


	2. The Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: character death, violence, mentions of assault

Hermione’s eyes blinked open, still surrounded by darkness she blinked again. Shadows passed behind her eyelids and she groaned, her head ached and her neck had an agonising crick like she’d been sleeping on an angle…

Hermione jerked, remembering why she’d been asleep and as she gasped, she hit something solid behind her. A hand closed over her mouth.

“Shh, Granger.” Malfoy’s mouth was by her ear, “Keep quiet unless you’re determined to die.”

Hermione struggled but Malfoy arm held fast around her middle, pinning her to him. She realised he had been holding her upright while she had sagged unconscious, her head lent over her shoulder and hair obscuring her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been stunned for or if Malfoy had been carrying her dead weight all that time but this was not the time to be pondering her own circumstances.

Ignoring the Death Eater that held her Hermione looked around, eyes wide and frightened as she took in the space they had been brought to. It was Malfoy Manor, or what had once been Malfoy Manor. Now it was Voldemort’s arena.

The Dark Lord stood at the front of the hall, sitting on a large throne-like chair while Nagini’s lay at his feet, thick coils undulating slowly as she moved up the arm and slid her head under the awaiting palm of her master. Hermione’s eyes trailed up from the Dark Lord’s pale hand, over his dark robes to his face. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the flickering of candlelight that illuminated the dark hall from all sides. Voldemort’s face was worse than Hermione had ever imagined, tight skin pulled over his hairless head. Slit like eyes, now a deep maroon red as he watched over his brethren and his nose, or what little there was of one, flared as he scented the air. Hermione shuddered, the sensation rippling down her spine as she wondered if he could smell fear, as if he thrived upon it. His thin lips pulled into a sardonic smile as his head turned, cold red eyes finding hers amongst the crowd.

Hermione thought her heart might stop as her blood ran cold. The sensation washed over her body slowly, painfully slicing at her nerves while she shook violently in Malfoy’s arms. She was being held still by Malfoy, who’s hand slid down from her mouth as she began to pant and it came to rest, again, on her throat. His fingers dug in under her jawline, taking control of her head completely with that one simple placement.

“Lower your eyes in the presence of the Dark Lord, Little Mudblood.” Malfoy hissed in her ear, and Hermione could feel the sneer behind his words. “You should know by now to respect your superiors.”

She didn’t look away, choosing to struggle against him until his hand closed on her throat, tipping her head down with the motion and ripping her eyes away from the Dark Lord. Hermione’s blood warmed instantly and she stopped fighting. She gulped in heavy pants as if she had run a marathon, her body going limp against Malfoy once more.

The Dark Lord appeared to have moved on from her when she glanced up again, he was now whispering to his pet, smile still affixed to his face. Hermione took the chance to look further around the room.

Malfoy, and by design Hermione, was standing close to the great throne Voldemort occupied. It sat at the end of the room, two lines of Death Eaters standing across from each other ran down the length of the chamber until they reached the large doors. Hermione could only presume this was once the great ballroom of Malfoy manor. The lines, which began in an orderly manner close to Voldemort then descended into a large crowd the further along it went. Hermione, just from glancing across from her, discerned that there was some semblance of order to their layout. Most important and influential closest to the Dark Lord, his inner circle of Death Eaters, his remaining marked followers then those that clung to the outskirts trying to gain power without dedicating themselves to the Dark Lord as the Death Eaters had.

Across from Hermione stood the older Malfoys, the Lestrange brothers, and a gap directly next to the stairs of Voldemort’s pedestal that Hermione could only presume was for Bellatrix Lestrange.

Despite how tightly Malfoy held her Hermione managed to swivel her neck. He was breathing into her ear now but she didn’t care. Not when she saw the three men standing on her left between herself and the podium.

Severus Snape stood directly next to Voldemort podium, equal in status to Bellatrix if Hermione understood the layout correctly. The greasy bat stared directly ahead, his entire face except for the adnominally large nose hidden by the curtains of his hair. Hermione would have tried to claw her way to him if she wasn’t distracted by who was closer to her.

Directly next to Malfoy was Greyback, the hulking brute still half transformed and as Malfoy did to her, Greyback held Ron’s limp form in with one arm. Greyback didn’t press his captive to his chest like Malfoy held her, although from the blood dripping into a small puddle on the floor he wouldn’t need to. Ron was clearly slipping in and out of consciousness, eyes and head flickering to life then dropping away again. There was no way he would be able to stand let alone fight Greyback off. The older werewolf simply held him up by the back of the collar, letting Ron’s boy hang limp in the air while his legs dragged along the floor.

Malfoy’s hand tightened on her throat.

“Don’t.” He whispered into her ear as she opened her mouth to call for Ron.

Hermione would have ignored him but for the way his whole body tensed around hers and the hush of the large crowd around them. Hermione’s eyes twitched reluctantly away from Ron’s form today the podium. Voldemort rose as his followers watched on in silent awe.

Hermione trembled despite herself. She had never seen the wizard they had been fighting all these years up close. She’d heard tales, of course, but he rarely appeared on the battlefield and when he did there were few left to talk about it. Hermione had never, ever wanted to see the man, or creature, in person. His presence was heavy in the room, stifling any whispers or movement. The room, filled with the many people who followed him blindly was deathly silence as the Dark Lord opened his mouth.

“Brethren.” He hissed, arms rising wide. “You have been called here to witness history.”

This time when his eyes scanned the room Hermione averted eye contact, glaring at the black scales of Nagini’s skin as she slithered across the podium and down the steps before her master.

“Lucius.” The Dark Lord spoke, his speech affecting the sound of his ‘s’ drawing out a hissing noise that on most would have seen ridicule but on the Dark Lord only heightened his inhumanity. “How many of the Order have you captured today?”

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward from his place in the line, blond hair gleaming in the firelight. Despite his proximity to his master he looked only towards the floor but spoke clearly.

“All, My Lord.” He said.

“All.” The Dark Lord hissed once more.

Lucius bowed,

“Yes, My Lord. All who were at the campsite today have been killed or captured.”

Lucius’ eyes flickered upwards to Hermione and his son. Malfoy’s hand tightened around her, holding her up straight.

“You must be so proud, Lucius.” Voldemort purred sardonically, “That your son was the one to lead the pack to the Order.”

Lucius flinched, his eyes travelling across the floor towards Draco but never lifting. At most, he stared at his son’s feet, refusing to meet the werewolf that held Hermione.

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius whispered, stepping back into the line slowly.

Voldemort’s noses flared again as if he was tasting the shame that rolled off Lucius’s body. Narcissa, still in line, did not raise her head, eyes trained on the floor while a tear rolled down her cheek.

Hermione watched it all happen, but she couldn’t feel pity for the Malfoy’s, clearly, Draco had been turned to punish them but Hermione focused on only one thing. Draco Malfoy had led the Death Eaters to the Order’s hideout. He was the reason so many were now dead. Hermione shook with rage, one hand clutching it Malfoy’s her nails biting into his skin. If he noticed her attempts to make him bleed again, he didn’t show it. Malfoy stood silently behind her, head directly ahead as the Dark Lord continues.

“Greyback,” Voldemort said, appearing to discard Lucius’s anguish and move onto the next plaything in reach.

“Yes, my lord.” Greyback stepped forward, dragging Ron’s body forward with him. For the hulking beast he was, Greyback presented himself calmly and in perfect subjugation to the Dark Lord. Unlike Lucius Malfoy, the werewolf clearly held no fear of reprimand. Hermione supposed if Draco Malfoy was now a werewolf, he was under the control of Fenrir Greyback and his pack.

“You have done well, Greyback,” Voldemort stepped down slowly, his thick black robes trailing down the stairs as he approached. “You will be rewarded well for your packs contributions.”

Voldemort stopped walking as he stood in front of Greyback, red eyes dropping to the limp form of Ron in Greyback’s arms. Voldemort’s hair reached out slowly, a thin pale finger, reminiscent of a dementor stroked Ron’s bloodied face.

“You will be rewarded handsomely.” Voldemort declared, a thin cruel smile playing on his lips.

Greyback nodded, lowering his hulking frame to be smaller than his masters.

“The pack is here to serve you, my lord.” Greyback said calmly, “We require no reward but the satisfaction of serving you.”

If the whole situation wasn’t so abhorrent Hermione would have rolled her eyes at the werewolves simpering remarks. There were some low murmurs further down the row but Hermione could discern no words and from the look on Voldemort’s face, greyback had given the appropriate response.

“The pack has proven itself well, friend. You will be rewarded, but for now,” Voldemort let go of Ron’s face finally, and turned looking down the great room to the doorway, “we have something to attend to.”

With an echoing boom, the doors opened, swinging back dramatically and forcing the gathering crowd at the end of the room to scatter out of its wake. Everyone in the room turned to look. Hermione, still being puppeted by Malfoy was relieved at least to be able to see what was happening. Voldemort drafting back into the empty row and came to stop a few meters from his throne. He smiled, thin lips pulled back to reveal foul pointed teeth, as he stared at the open door.

Hermione could only watch in horror as Bellatrix Lestrange’s heeled boots clicked down the polished flooring, a limp body dragging behind her along the ground.

Harry, Hermione realised with horror. She was bringing Harry to Voldemort.

Voldemort wasn’t just using this as his final battle with Harry to complete the prophecy, he was displaying it for all his followers to see. This was a show, a performance to witness their Lord’s power.

Hermione’s mouth opened, desperate to cry out to Harry, his limp body pulled along the floor to his doom.

“Don’t,” Malfoy whispered in her ear.

Hermione sobbed, tears trailing down her cheeks. What was Malfoy playing at, trying to control her like this? She wasn’t his puppet to throw around and dictate. Hermione opened her mouth, preparing to scream Harry’s name.

She’d throw herself in front of Voldemort if she could, she’d give herself to save Harry.

“Harry!” Another voice wailed loudly from behind them, overshadowing Hermione’s sobs.

Hermione yanked her head, trying desperately to see the owner of the voice. Malfoy struggled with her for a moment then stopped, allowing her to see the visual behind them. Along the wall hung members of the Order, bound in silver chains. Some stared, eyes wide and terrified, other dangled limply.

These were the remained members of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione realised. Those who hadn’t been killed in the clearing had been brought to witness the end of the war.

Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, Gabrielle Delacour, Remus Lupin, Dean Thomas, Katie Bell, and Dennis Creevey.

That was it. All that remained if what Lucius had said was true, everyone else was dead.

The shout had come from Lupin, he strained against the chains, arms extended back as he craned closer to the crowd, to Harry. His eyes had turned feral, almost wolf-like as he fought against his restraints. Silver, Hermione realised, he had been bound in silver. It wouldn’t burn the werewolf, not unless it was against raw flesh, but it would weaken him. The werewolf had been contained, unable to pull himself free, he screamed Harry’s name over and over his voice cracking and hoarse.

Tears poured down Hermione’s face, there was nothing they could do. Bound against the wall the Order members were now forced to watch their own downfall. There was no way Voldemort would play fair, he was confident enough to hold his final battle with Harry in a crowded room of his supporters and enemies. Voldemort has no intention of failing his rise to power now.

Voldemort’s eyes had been focused solely on Harry and Bellatrix’s slow procession but now he’s head flinched, draw away by Lupins cries.

Hermione was about to join in him, maybe if they could wake Harry he would have a chance. He could stand against Voldemort as he’d always wanted, he could fight at least. Maybe he’d have a chance.

Voldemort turned slowly, looking through his lower Death Eaters to the wall of captives. He lifted his wand slowly.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.” He hissed.

The flash of green flew through the air, those in its way dived aside not caring for grace or delicacy in the face of the killing curse. Lupin, chained to the wall, could do nothing. The curse hit him in the chest, rocking his body against the chains and his eyes dulled and his head rocked forward.

Hermione’s chest felt like it was collapsing. Malfoy’s hand moved from her neck and back over her mouth once more as he muffled her horrified gasp.

Remus Lupin was dead.

There was no ceremony, no duel, no fight. Voldemort had killed him without thought, only because he dared interrupt his procession. Hermione’s breathing was erratic but the sound was muffled by the movements of the crowd, all reclaiming their places and the hand that clamped tightly over her mouth.

“Are you done?” Malfoy hissed in her ear, “Or do you still have a death wish?”

Hermione nodded her head once, she wouldn’t scream. She would be no use to Harry if she was dead. Malfoy slipped his hand away from her mouth once more, placing it back against her neck. It was looser this time, but still firm in case she attempted anything. No doubt, Malfoy was concerned that if she did scream, he too would be caught in the crossfire of Voldemort’s rage.

None of the those against the wall screamed. A few of those awake sobbed but were ignored by the room.

Bellatrix stopped in front of Voldemort.

“My Lord.” She preened, confidence and lust dripping from her. “I have brought you the boy.”

Bellatrix pulled Harry around, his limp body dangling. Hermione held her breath, anything to stop herself from screaming to her friend. Was he dead? Had they killed him already? Harry was pale and limp, his tanned skin looked shallow and his hair hung limply around his face. His glasses were missing and his scar, prominent against his forehead looked inflamed and angry.

Hermione could only see the wizards back now but Voldemort almost seemed to quiver, his wand twitched by his side and he dismissed Bellatrix with a wave. The witch seemed disappointed, glancing down at Harry in her arms before she dropped him to the floor and slunk out of the row. She slipped into the crowd, close, directly in front of the action.

The room stilled, not a sound murmured through the air now. Everyone stopped, no one moved, Voldemort looked down at his foe.

Harry seemed so small, so fragile collapsed on the floor. His dark hair covered his closed eyes. His blue sweater was marred with dirt and his knees were bloodied under his ripped jeans. He’d lost one trainer, the striped sock of his left sock bright and out of place.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort said, his voice soft but clear in the silence, “The boy who lived.”

Voldemort pulled something out of his pocket, a wand Hermione realised. Voldemort tossed it onto the floor, by Harry’s legs.

“ _Rennervate_ ” Voldemort hissed, his arms lifting with an excited flourish.

On the floor, Harry stirred. His eyes blinked open and he looked up, clearly confused by his surroundings. He didn’t seem to focus on Voldemort at first, his eyesight was terrible without his glasses Hermione remembered, would he even be able to see the wand in front of him?

Voldemort was giving the pretence of a fair duel; Harry was awake and a weapon was within reach but would he really allow Harry the chance to touch it? Surely not, Hermione thought.

Harry’s eyes looked around, squinting as he tried to take in his surroundings. Finally, his bright green eyes met Hermione’s. Her mouth dropped open and she pulled, ripped back once more but Malfoy.

“’Mione?” Harry’s soft voice was hesitant as he tried shifting, pulling himself to his knees.

“Harry.” Hermione sobbed, quietly.

Voldemort lifted his wand just as Harry raised his eyes to the wizard in front of him, looming above as he stared at Harry.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Voldemort cried.

Harry could do nothing. The green light from Voldemort’s wand flashed, almost blinding the room with its fervour, and struck harry. It sent his small body flying backwards, limbs sprawled out as his head lolled onto his shoulder.

There was a moment of silence.

Harry’s body lay lifeless, the wand he was given still untouched on the floor by Voldemort’s feet.

Hermione screamed. It didn’t matter than Malfoy pulled at him, trying to stop her noise. Others against the wall did the same, crying out Harry’s name as realisation crashed upon them.

Harry was dead.

The Chosen One. Their last hope was gone. Voldemort has fulfilled the prophecy and Harry hadn’t saved them.

Cheering overtook the crying. Manic laughter filled the airs as Bellatrix whooped and danced gleefully. Voldemort stood still, almost stunned until he staggered slightly. Bellatrix leapt to his side,

“My Lord,” she whispered desperately as the rest of the crowd continued their celebration. At the upper end of the room, around Hermione, no one moved nor cheered. They waited anxiously for their master’s word.

“Enough.” Voldemort hissed, shaking Bellatrix’s clutching grip on his sleeve.

Voldemort seemed to regain his composure, he lifted his wand again and waved it at Harry’s body. Chains dropped from the ceiling, wrapping themselves around Harry’s wrists and ankles and held him suspended in the arm above them all.

“The boy is dead!” Voldemort cried, “ _Crucio_!”

Harry’s body danced on the metal strings that held him in the air. His limbs contorted wildly; Hermione was sure they would dislocate themselves from their pulling. Voldemort released the spell and Harry’s body stilled, swaying in the air gently.

Voldemort laughed then and Hermione sagged against her restraints. Tears poured from her and she sobbed.

Her best friend, the boy she would have readily given her life for, was dead. His body danced morbidly above them again and again as Voldemort sent curse after curse at his lifeless form, entertaining himself and his brethren with the morbid display.

Malfoy was tense around her, still, the Death Eater’s did not move from their positions even as some clapped and others laughed at the display.

After some time, the cheering died away as Voldemort ended him pointless torture. Harry was gone, his body could feel nothing. Voldemort did this only for his entertainment, for his satisfaction in knowing he had won.

“My brethren!” Voldemort called, silencing those around him, “You have followed me, been loyal to me. Potter is now dead and nothing shall stand in our way.”

Voldemort addressed this to his Death Eaters, those closest to his throne while ignoring the more enthusiastic crowd.

“This night shall be remembered,” Voldemort said, sweeping his arms outwards towards the chained Order members. “You have followed me willingly; you have remained loyal all these years. Those who served me well shall be rewarded.”

Voldemort walked towards them slowly,

“I believed,” he looked at the Death Eaters by his throne. The Malfoy’s and the Lestrange’s all stood still, nervous tension hung between them. “my most loyal Death Eater’s would be the ones to bring me the boy but it appears I was wrong.”

Voldemort’s eyes scanned over his Death Eaters, and Hermione got the distinct impression they were terrified, regardless of Voldemort’s clear jubilation of Harry’s death.

“Instead,” Voldemort turned to Draco and Greyback. Hermione averted her eyes. “It is the pack who have brought be what I wanted.”

Draco held Hermione tight as she stifled her sobs, Voldemort was so close now. His black robes approached her, she could have reached out and grabbed him if not for the vice-like grip Malfoy had on her. Clearly protecting his master, knowing that he would suffer the consequences should Hermione do anything heroically stupid.

At that point, Hermione didn’t even know if she had it in her. She hung limp in Malfoy’s arms. All she wanted was to reach Harry. Too many, she’d seen too many of her friend’s bodies in this day.

Harry. Lupin. George. Ginny. Fred.

Gods knew how many others.

“Draco,” Voldemort purred, his hissing voice closer than ever. Hermione squeezed her eyes closed as tremors ran through her spine. “You have done well, my boy.”

“My Lord,” Draco dipped his head.

Voldemort was so close she could smell him. Blood, he smelt off the bitter tang of copper, as if those he’d killed leaked through his pores. Hermione gasped as fingers clamped on her chin. Her head was wrenched upwards, and her eyes flicked open in fear.

The same cold feeling ran through her body as Voldemort’s eyes met hers. Suddenly thoughts and memories flickered through her. Harry’s death, Ginny’s body, Malfoy’s eyes as he tasted her blood, the tents exploding.

Voldemort’s mouth curled into a smile.

“I see you have had an interesting altercation with our Miss Granger,” Voldemort said as he dropped her chin and looked at her captor.

“Yes, My Lord.” Malfoy’s voice remained cold and distant.

Voldemort’s eyes appraised Hermione’s body, making her stomach coil and bile threatened to creep up her throat.

“She was once quite pretty,” Voldemort said, “Potter’s Mudblood, wasn’t she Draco?”

Malfoy’s finger stiffened against her throat. Just one finger, with the slightest twitch against her skin. Nothing else changed, his voice still despondent as he replied,

“She was considered adequate by some, My Lord, for a Mudblood.”

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. Not because Malfoy classified her as ‘adequate’ but in terror at where this conversation was leading.

“And intelligent?” Voldemort said.

“Yes, my Lord,” Malfoy said, finger twitching again. “She was top of the class at Hogwarts.”

“Mmm.” Voldemort pondered.

He turned and paced away, head turning to appraise them again. Malfoy’s head did not follow, he stood still staring ahead.

“You will take her, Draco.” Voldemort declared, his tone menacing despite his smile. “Turn her. Use her to breed your pups. It seems to a waste to do away with such a prize when the Malfoy line still needs its continuation.”

Malfoy barely reacted. Hermione sagged further, sobbing as she heard her fate.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Draco said plainly.

Turn her. Malfoy would bite her, turn her into a werewolf. He was to keep her alive, after all this and use her how he pleased. She had been prepared for torture, even the Cruciatus but this… this was so much worse.

“Lucius, “Voldemort said coldly when Draco appeared to have no further reaction. “Do you believe this an adequate prize for your son?”

Lucius didn’t look tortured, his face remained impassive despite his wife silent sobbing.

“My Lord?” he asked, his voice did not hold the same composure. It cracked and broke as he tried to look at his son but couldn’t.

“Do you not think this a fitting match?” Voldemort sneered, now clearly enjoying the rise he had gotten from the older Malfoy. “A Mudblood whore for your half-breed son?”

Malfoy’s whole hand tremored against her throat this time but no one but Hermione noticed as Voldemort turned his attention to his Death Eater. Lucius’s face crumpled,

“Yes, my Lord.” He said, nearly losing himself in composure. “Of course, my Lord, as you see fit.”

Voldemort smiled once more, his teeth bared and nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Clearly, the ‘prize’ was meant to punish the failed Death Eaters more than it was to reward the pack.

“Greyback.” Voldemort turned, bored once more of his games. “Ah, it looks like your prize is already tenderised for you.”

He looked at the limp form of Ron hanging from Greyback’s hand. Ron was completely collapsed now, legs twisted on the floor and hand resting in the pool of blood he’d left. Hermione sucked in a breath. Was he dead too?

Ron was deathly pale, his red hair a stark shock of colour against his skin.

“Do with him as you wish,” Voldemort said dismissively to greyback, “Fuck him, eat him, I don’t care.”

Clearly, there would be no pleasure given in tormenting Ron or Greyback tonight.

“No.” Hermione moaned, as Greyback shook Ron with no response. “Please, no.”

Malfoy did nothing as she cried, he was still staring ahead locked in position since Voldemort had announced his intent to give Hermione to him.

Voldemort’s eyes passed over the remaining Death Eaters but it appeared he had no more ‘prizes’ to deliver at the moment. Instead, he retook his chair, lording over his brethren as Nagini slithered to him once more. Voldemort looked once more at Greyback as no one moved, then at the chained prisoners and then back to Greyback as if deciding something.

Voldemort clapped his hands once, bringing silence once more to the room.

“Brethren!” He cried, “Tonight will be an evening of celebration.”

He swept his arms to the prisoners once more, then down towards Hermione and Ron.

“We are neglecting our guests.” He hissed, eyes training on Hermione’s face. “We have Harry Potter’s closest friends here. I believe it’s about time we introduced them to the pit.”

Hermione trembled as hoots and whoops sounded from around the room. Malfoy dragged Hermione forwards with him as he stepped into the middle of the room. Greyback followed with Ron. Once they reached the middle of the room and the crowded shuffled around Malfoy turned to face Voldemort.

With a raise of his wand, the whole room began to shake. Hermione gasped as the floor beneath her trembled. Great cracks in the floor appeared but Malfoy did not let her go, even as they began to sink.

Slowly they descended. The floor around them, an almost five-metre square of the room, sunk down. When the shaking stopped the walls of the pit, as Voldemort had called it, were higher than Hermione’s head and the crowded re-appeared, swarming at the edge to get a good look.

Hermione felt the arms around her release and shove her forward. Hermione gasped as she hit the floor, it seemed like an age since she had been free of Malfoy. His finger marks still bruised her skin as Hermione skittered across the floor away from him.

Malfoy didn’t look at her but turned instead to greyback. Malfoy looked resigned and Hermione’s throat caught on her swallow of air. What were they going to do to her?

Voldemort had insisted that Malfoy turn her and, Hermione shuddered, breed her. However, she knew it wasn’t a full moon, there was no way Malfoy could turn her now. Biting her in his human form would only give her a few wolfish traits, much like Bill. Hermione pulled herself up and looked around the pit, hoping beyond hope some kind of weapon would materialise. What if Malfoy planned on getting a head start on Voldemort’s other suggestion? Would he try to take her, force himself on her, here in front of everyone?

Hermione’s heart began to race. Malfoy was a werewolf now, she couldn’t put it past him, who knew what he was capable of. Hermione palmed her pockets, wishing desperately for her wand.

Greyback threw Ron carelessly across the pit as if discarding rubbish and turned to Malfoy. Laying on hand on the younger man’s shoulder Greyback chest rumbled loudly. Someone in the crowd murmured but Hermione could only watch in horror as Greyback’s growling affected the other werewolf.

Malfoy discarded his robes and began unbuckling his belt. As he dropped his trousers his body convulsed and Hermione’s eyes went wide. Malfoy’s muscles trembled as he dropped to his hands and knees before Greyback.

Low growls began emanating from the blond as he’s back twitched and shook.

Oh gods, Hermione thought, he was going to turn. She didn’t understand how werewolves could only turn under a full moon but all her literary knowledge betrayed her as Hermione stared at the two werewolves now mid-transformation.

Greyback’s seemed much smoother, his skin shimmering as the loud cracking of bones and tearing of flesh echoes around the pit. Malfoy howled, half-human and half wolf, the unmistakable tone of pain splitting through the air.

They were changing, fur split open Malfoy’s skin and he’s bone snapped in impossible manners. Moving, forming new thicker limbs that sported fur and carried his weight as he put one massive paw on the ground firmly.

Hermione’s mouth was agape at the sight. These were werewolves as she’d never seen them before. Hermione has seen Lupin up close, and he’s transformation had revealed a skeleton-like monster with little fur and almost translucent skin. The wolves emerging before her now were a completely different monster.

Far more like regular wolves, they were covered in thick fur that seemed to correspond with their human forms. Greyback was huge, a great four-legged beast with a short muzzle, tufted tail, a chest the size of a barrel and a long grey streak only his dorsal side.

Malfoy was smaller yet no less impressive. His fur was white and his chest slimmed but he was longer, his legs powerfully muscles even with the layer of fur covering his body. Like-wise, his tail was shorter and furrier than normal wolves. His muzzle was shorter too, though longer than Greybacks. Large ears swivelled atop his large head as Hermione gasped.

She stepped back with a trembling leg. She was trapped with them now, there was no way she could possibly reach the edge of the wall and even if she did she couldn’t leave Ron. Voldemort had said Greyback could do what he liked with the Weasley.

Hermione took a cautious step to her left, towards Ron but as soon as she did Malfoy’s wolf head swizzled to look at her.

His transformation was complete. His upper lips pulled back, baring his teeth at Hermione as a low growl rumbled from him. Hermione’s whole body trembled as his frame turned to her now. His head was level with her chest, his body longer than she was tall. There was no way she could fight him, not like this, not without a wand.

Yellow eyes, the ones she’d seen earlier in the clearing, watched Hermione as she tried to calm herself. There had to be away, she would not die in the pit, she wouldn’t allow it. From the way Malfoy’s wolf looked at her Hermione was sure she would never survive if he got his teeth into her. He’d kill her for sure, it would be a convenient way to rid himself of Voldemort’s prize.

He wouldn’t be forced to sully his Pureblood family if she were dead. No pups sired if he sunk his teeth into her flesh and got rid of her.

Greyback, now fully transformed, sniffed at Malfoy then nipped at his haunches, urging him forward. Hermione took a step back as jeers and laughed rained down on her from above. This was their entertainment; she’d die and they’d laugh before moving onto the next Order member.

Tears built in her eyes as the great white wolf lowered itself, it’s hackled raised as it began to stalk her movements. Hermione was ready to die, not yet, not without a fight.

Find something, she thought, anything to fight with. She tried to summon her magic, channelling it to her hands like she might with a wand but she knew, even as it crackled between her fingers, it wouldn’t be enough. She might be able to cast one shield charm without her wand.

Wand. That was it.

Hermione glanced at the pile of robes Malfoy has discarded. Wands. He had his own and her own stashed in the pocket. Hermione just needed to get to them, but how, the wolf was watching her calculating its next move.

Wing it, something screamed at her, don’t give up.

Hermione watched the wolf as its eyes flashed and Hermione knew it was coming. She dove without waiting, knowing she only had once chance.

Malfoy and Greyback moved at the same time, the grey wolf went for Ron’s prone form teeth sinking into his leg as the white wolf leapt for Hermione. Hermione had timed it right, just. The wolf cut her leg with its claw as it came crashing down but Hermione was now where she needed to be. She scrambled for the cloak.

“ _Progeto_!” She screamed, throwing one hand up as she shoved her hand through the pile of material desperately hoping the spell would hold.

A crashing noise echoed through her ears and as Hermione’s hand landed on something cool and thin, she dared look up. The wandless shielding charm had worked, somewhat. It was already cracking as Malfoy’s wolf descended on it again, failing the first time. Hermione would have been impressed at her own skill if she wasn’t so terrified.

The crowd above them boo’d, clearly not enjoying Hermione’s minute victory. The world crashed down on her shield again, teeth snapping and breaking the magic.

“Flipendo!” Hermione shouted, lying on her side and waiting for her end to come.

It didn’t. She’d yanked the wand, robes and all and desperately hoped it would work against the wolf. Instead of sending him flying through the air, it pushed him back slightly until he was against the back wall now near Ron and Greyback.

Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight. Greyback had Ron’s leg in his mouth and shook her friend like a ragdoll. Ron’s eyes flickered.

Oh gods, Hermione realised, he was still alive. For now. If Greyback didn’t stop Ron would be dead for sure.

Malfoy was regaining his footing as Hermione stared. She had to choose. Protect herself from Malfoy or protect Ron from Greyback.

Hermione flicked the wand as Malfoy leapt, desperately hoping it would be enough. Greyback was knocked back but Hermione couldn’t see if Ron was okay as Malfoy’s wolf mouth descended on Hermione’s leg.

Hermione screamed as teeth dragged through her calf and shook, a growling rumble echoing through her as blood splashed against Malfoy’s white muzzle.

Hermione was let go again, as Malfoy leapt back, darting around her and this time biting at her shoulder. Hermione screamed loudly, and the crowd cheered as the wolf pinned her with one huge paw on the back and sunk his teeth in her flesh. His muzzle was huge, the fleshy muscle between her neck and shoulder seared with agonising pain as Hermione felt the lycanthropic disease attack her blood. Already Hermione could feel her temperature spiking, the wolfs hot breath didn’t help as he held her there letting saliva drip into the wound.

The teeth released her flesh and Hermione gasped, even without the tearing of the canine teeth pain ripped through her body. She could hear the low rumble of the wolf as she tried to roll herself onto her back away from him.

Hermione’s body shook the process already taking over as a warm tongue lapped at her bloody neck. Hermione’s hand was still on the wand but her muscle seized, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe.

She was going to die. Hermione’s breath rattled as she lay on the floor, contemplating her last moments. Hermione blinked her eyes open, hoping the last thing she saw in the world wouldn’t be the yellow eyes of Draco Malfoy. Her blood burned and her vision went blurry but even with the pain, what Hermione saw above her was so much worse than the werewolf that was killing her.

Above her, dangling in chains Harry Potters corpse swayed in the air. Her best friend, and their last shred of hope in this war, was dead.


End file.
